I had another birthday last month, I am now 31 years old. Of course with this quiet passing of birthdays I discovered that I like Emma Bridgewater mugs and that I have bingo wings. The latter was more of a shock than the former. When I pointed out my wingage to the husband he said that it may be more the shoveling of excess food into my mouth than my turning another year older. I can hear you all saying ‘HE SAID WHAT?’ and limbering up for some man bashing, but actually he’s right.

Whilst I work out how best to tackle my shovelling problem without having my jaw wired I have decided to wrap my bingo wings in cling film at night. This will surely reduce them if it is tight enough and the heating is cranked up

With my birthday came the dawn of the pyjama. I haven’t worn pyjamas since I left home at 18, opting for nakedness and then when I had children just plain old big pants. I am now going for comfort. I perused Marks and Spencer online and clicked the wrong button because I was confronted with one of my worst fears … ‘older’ ladies wearing quilted bed jackets. Recoiling in horror I decided that it would be best to go to a real shop where I could avoid such atrocities.

I had some time off last week to bridge the gaping childcare hole. It was lovely to spend some quality time with …

The 5 year old, who was suffering SHF (Summer Holiday Fatigue). Being passed from one form of childcare to the next all Summer has not done her any favours. She has loved the school holiday club which was a relief. She did have to be peeled off me each morning, but then each evening I had to drag her screaming to the car because she didn’t want to leave.

She has more imaginary animals. We have the two dogs, Molly and Sarah who walk with us every night with our REAL dog and then there are some unnamed cats. She still wants a real guinea pig and I am still refusing. When I suggested she get herself an imaginary guinea pig she looked at me as if I were mad. Other than that she is continuing to stalk the neighbours ten year old daughter daily and is now getting the …

… the 3 year old involved in peering in their front windows too. There will be a restraining order arriving shortly.

He has acquired a new noise, a cross between a guinea pig squeal and the screeching metal brakes on the 08:45 Northern Rail to Leeds. This noise is fairly random and I’m not sure if I should worry. He starts nursery at the 5 year old’s school next week which couldn’t come fast enough because he wails each morning as we pull up outside the OAP childminders and can’t understand why he can’t go to ”big boy school’.

We discovered that he had been weeing in the bidet a few weeks ago. After much berating he has ceased this activity and now favours cleaning the bidet with the 5 year old’s flannel instead. Apart from that he is obsessed with Mario Kart on the Wii and has probably said the phrase “can I play on the car game” 40 times a day for the last six weeks. This isn’t the only time he repeats himself either “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride”, “Can we go on a scooter ride” gets a bit tiresome too. In fact if he wants something and gets the answer ‘no’ he will attempt to wear me down with asking the same thing over and over to the point that …

… the husband is now worried that the 3 year old is actually part goldfish.

The husband has taken to swearing excessively recently, but understandable seeing as he managed to kill his computer last week, which as a graphic designer is integral to his work.

The TV is currently tuned to ‘cricket’ and only ‘cricket’ which the children find disgusting especially as it clashes with Mister Maker. He’s going to the One Day International at Durham next week to meet up with ‘Glaswegian Jim’. We met Glaswegian Jim and his lovely family when we went camping in August. Their friendship formed over their love to drink alcohol and talk b*llocks into the early hours of the morning. One of our neighbouring campers got quite razzed by the early morning discussions. She came out of her tent and shouted angrily at Glaswegian Jim “I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR YOUR SCOTTISH VOICE AGAIN TONIGHT” . Over the last few weeks by medium of text and email the husband has taught Jim everything there is to know about cricket.

He mentioned the word ‘vasectomy’ in my presence last week. I laughed it off nervously. I am of course still holding out for him having an accidental head trauma and subsequently the revelation that he would in fact like more children. This isn’t going to happen, but a vasectomy? It seems so final. Usually it is the woman pushing for the man to have the vasectomy, surely not the man openly willing to have his bits hacked at with a machete snipped. To be honest I think if he could do it himself with a pair of garden shears he would.

The dog… is mostly moulting. She is looking a bit thin, which for a Labrador is unheard of, I’ll have to start supplementing her diet with her favourite past worktop steals … pomegranates …. candles … frozen mince … whole loaves of bread … tubs of margarine. Maybe she’s dog-a-rexic?

I’m at Teacher Friend Mother of Three’s caravan in the Yorkshire Dales with the 3 and 4 year old. Facebook Wife Mother of One is coming too.

The husband is clicking ‘publish post’ for me in my absence.

We are more than likely splashing about in the stream which runs along the side of ‘the van’ and although we are only here for 24 hours I have packed enough clothes for a week. Last night we probably toasted marshmellows and drank lashings of wine before cramming ourselves and the six children into cupboards, drawers and shower cubicles to sleep.

Anyway. I’ve had a major facelift … well not personally that would take a LOT of money but you know what I mean. I just wanted to warn you all, I wouldn’t want you to tune in and think you’d gone to the wrong place.

http://arewenearlythereyetmummy.com

The husband has spent an AWFUL lot of time and effort creating the new site. It’s all a bit sparkly with a hint of fandangled jiggerypokery. I’m very proud of him and what he’s achieved and I hope you’ll like it too. There are a few tweaks still to make, but he has tons of other ‘paid’ stuff to do, so there we have it in all it’s glory. If everyone could update blogrolls, follow mes and any mention of AWNTYM via social media info etc etc etc, I’d be eternally grateful.

Anyway I’ll be back shortly with tales of ‘how many pairs of pants/shorts/t-shirts/socks a small child can go through in one 24 hour period at the van’ … as well as how many people can comfortably sleep in a 2 bedroomed static caravan.

I’m thinking 9 isn’t the magic number.

I have 3 pairs of tickets (possibly more) up for grabs and I want to offer them to my lovely readers. All you need to do is leave a comment and my independent adjudicators (the 3 and 4 year old) will pull names out of a hat a week today.

Before you comment make sure you can attend the location on the time and date below.

The date – Sunday 12 July 2009
Time – 11.30am
Location – Dalby Forest, Near Pickering, North Yorkshire
Minimum age – 10yrs
Minimum height – 1.4m (4ft7″)
Maximum weight – 20.5 stones (130kg)

Do me a favour and hit the button to the bottom right to retweet this competition!

Here’s a taste of Go Ape in the Dalby Forest …

3 YEAR OLD SCARRED BY JETSET MOTHER

As you all know I went on a jolly trip of great importance to the US of A a few weeks ago.

Tonight we engaged MarMar for babysitting duties so that we could go to the cinema.

Husband - Goodnight, see you in the morning

3 year old - Are you going to America with Mummy?

Clearly the 3 year old is still in some confusion about time and distance … or he is scarred by my abandoning him for the best pomegranate mojitos ever Mickey Mouse … or he thinks I can click my heels like Dorothy.

I think I shall buy him a globe.

In other news … on Wednesday I will be presenting the results of my ‘Muffin Off’ with Single Parent Dad (He of packet bun shame) where we shall both be judged by englishmum when we attempt to recreate her vanilla muffins. I’m still not sure what the criteria is, I’ll just be glad if my embarrasing efforts beautiful muffins are not charred.